He’s just about managing to keep the laugh in. Steve ducks his head and goes red. ‘Ah, no, it wasn’t that we really . . . I mean, I just wondered.’ He’s back in gormless-newbie mode, but the redner is real.

Part of me is actually with Breslin on this, but I’ve got other stuff on my mind. His face, when I told him what was in the box: just for a tenth of a second, I saw his mouth go slack with relief. Whatever he’s trying to steer us away from, Aislinn’s da isn’t it.

‘So don’t keep me in suspense,’ Breslin says. He’s still grinning. ‘Whodunit? Drug lords? Arms smugglers? The Mafia?’

‘The da did,’ I say. ‘Turns out he did a runner to England to shack up with some young one. And no reunion gone wrong: there’s no unaccounted-for contact in Aislinn’s electronics.’

I think I see that tiny explosion of relief on Breslin’s face again, but before I can be sure, it’s gone under a blast of jaw-dropped fake amazement. ‘No!’ He recoils, one hand going up to his chest. ‘You’re kidding me. Who would’ve guessed?’

He’s overdoing it. Breslin is too old a hand for that. He wants, too badly, to embarrass us away from the gang idea.

‘I know,’ Steve says, doing a rueful nod-and-shrug thing. ‘I do, honest. I just didn’t want to miss anything, you know?’

‘Shaking trees,’ Breslin says dryly. The grin is gone. ‘Wasn’t that the phrase? I’m not convinced that’s how the taxpayers would want us using their money, but hey, I’m not the one running this show. You keep shaking. Let me know if anything ever falls out.’

‘Will do,’ Steve says. ‘I was hoping . . .’ He rumples up his hair and looks hangdog.

Breslin shrugs off his coat and throws it over the back of his chair – he picked a desk good and close to ours, which makes me feel all special. ‘There’s a fine line between hope and desperation. You have to know when to let it go, as the song says.’

‘It’s gone,’ I say. ‘Does McCann want a go of the file, yeah? Before we send it back to Missing Persons?’

That gets me a stare. ‘McCann was trying to help you out, Conway. It’s called being nice. You might want to learn to accept it without throwing a wobbler.’

Steve moves in his chair, trying to beam peaceful thought-waves into my head. ‘I’ll send him a thank-you card,’ I say. ‘How’d Gaffney do, yesterday evening?’

‘Fine. He’s not the brightest little pixie in the forest, but he’ll get there in the end.’

I say, ‘Then how come you ditched him today?’